


Connecting in the Land of Disconnect

by cmk418



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Stanley Cup Finals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:29:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmk418/pseuds/cmk418
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to feel something other than this state of shock he’s currently in or the crushing disappointment that he knows is coming.  Set after Game 3 of the 2012 Stanley Cup Finals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Connecting in the Land of Disconnect

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt - "looking for something that feels like home"

As he steps onto the Staples Center ice to take a few turns before the opening faceoff, Adam can feel the difference in the atmosphere from when they were here at the start of the season. A chill runs down his spine as he hears the deafening roar of the crowd as the starting lineup is announced. He has to push it down, tame the sound to the dull white noise that doesn’t affect him. Maybe if they can quiet it early, the Devils will be able to steal one back.

They don’t.

After the game, Adam takes his time dressing, staring at a spot on the floor in front of his locker. _It’s not over_ , he tries telling himself as he mentally replays Quick stopping everything in sight. _It’s not over_ , he thinks as he hears that ridiculous “I Love L.A.” song repeating over and over in his mind. “It’s not over,” he whispers, even as he tries to shake off the images of every time the puck failed to reach its intended target, whether it was another player or the back of the Kings’ net.

He wants to feel something other than this state of shock he’s currently in or the crushing disappointment that he knows is coming. He wants somebody to tell him “it’s not over” and mean it. He’s sure that Zach and Marty have said it enough times to the media in the last ten minutes that it feels rote, and yet when the Captain clasps his shoulder and says “we still can take this”, Adam wants to believe him. It’s an attempt at connection, but in this city, so full of disconnect, so foreign to him, any hope he could gain falls apart before Adam can even muster a nod in agreement.

And then his mind settles on that save Quick made on him - _should have elevated the damn shot_ \- and it falls apart again. 

His cell phone signals an incoming text. He glances at the display. _Hallsy_. He opens the text, glad to have a momentary opportunity to hear from someone who wasn’t at the Staples tonight. The text simply reads _Remember the series against Kitchener?_

Adam smiles. It isn’t something that he would ever forget. Windsor was down three games to none and came back to win the championship. It’s exactly what he needs. Taylor’s always been good at that. After three years of playing together, feeding each other the puck, celebrating victories and commiserating after losses, and one particularly memorable night during the World Junior Tournament, he can honestly say that Taylor can read him better than anyone. _Seems like it was easier when we were together_ , he texts back.

It doesn’t take long for Taylor to reply. _You leave for the hotel yet?_

_Almost._

_Call me when you get there._

Adam nearly texts _I miss you_ , but settles for a simple _k_. Even though he wants nothing more to get out of this arena, he’s not looking forward to going back to the hotel. The rooms are starting to feel like prison cells at this point. There’s a time he needs to report and he’ll stay away as long as he can. Even if he just lays on one of the couches in the lobby and talks to Taylor for an hour, it’s a better plan than anything else at the moment.

The team arrives back at the hotel. Adam watches the players divide into two groups, one heading to the hotel bar and the other making a beeline for the rooms. He drifts away from them both, finding a chair out of the direct line of sight from anyone crossing through the lobby – he doesn’t need any of his team members deciding that now is the perfect time for bonding. 

He presses “4” – Hallsy’s number on the speed dial. It takes Taylor a moment to pick up. He sounds out of breath. “Hey. You made it.” 

“There wasn’t any reason to stick around.” _Come, join me in my pity party, Taylor_ , he thinks.

“So, now you’re probably sitting in the lobby, meditating on some weird modern art picture that looks suspiciously like the Stanley Cup.”

“It does not.” Adam wasn’t even conscious of the artwork across from him, but there’s no way the red and yellow blobs could be confused with the greatest trophy in all of sports.

“So, how close was I?”

“I’m in the lobby. Unless you want to make this call a little more private. Then I can go upstairs and-“

“Let your roommate hear all the intimate details of your conversation?”

“I’m sure Moose would love that. You know, they switched room assignments on us for the playoffs. At least, he doesn’t have the weird goalie thing going on. At least I think he doesn’t. He’s always muttering about something, but most of the time it’s in Swedish, so I have no clue as to what he’s ranting about.” 

Adam stops, listening for a reaction. There is none. He glances at the phone. Dead.

_Another mark against L.A._ he thinks. He gets up from the couch and moves toward the elevators. He figures he can call Hallsy from the room phone.

He gets to the bank of elevators just as one of them opens. He stands to one side of the door so that the elevator’s lone passenger can exit. The passenger is taking his time leaving, so Adam points out, “This is the lobby.” Adam holds the door open with one hand, so that the elevator won’t leave without him.

“I know.”

Adam’s head shoots up at the sound of Taylor’s voice. Taylor grins at him. 

“Sorry we got disconnected, these elevators don’t have any reception. Are you getting in?”

Adam blinks. “Yeah.” He steps forward and the elevator doors close behind him. Adam touches Taylor’s arms, his face, and his hair. “You’re here,” he whispers, leaning in to press his lips to Taylor’s. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too. Like the mustache. It looks good on you.” The elevator chimes their arrival as the doors open. Taylor pulls Adam out into the hallway. “Come on.”

“I have curfew.”

“Good news. You’re not Russian and this isn’t Nashville.” Taylor smiles as Adam looks like he’s considering going back upstairs. “It’ll be alright, rookie.” Taylor inserts his key card into the door and enters his hotel room.

“I was drafted two years before you,” Adam says, following him.

“Well, you know what they say,” Taylor presses Adam back against the door and places a kiss near Adam’s earlobe as he whispers. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“We’re not waiting,” Adam says.

“Oh, fuck, no,” says Taylor, pushing Adam’s suit jacket from his shoulders and beginning to free the buttons on his shirt. “Hell, if there wasn’t a damn camera in the elevator, I would have had you naked by the time we got to the third floor.”

Taylor moves in for another kiss as Adam shifts out of his shoes. The attempt and subsequent up and down chase sends Taylor into a fit of giggles. “What the hell?” he asks, laughing. “Stand still.”

“I’m getting comfortable. You’re the one that’s still dressed.”

“I’m taking in the view.” Taylor helps Adam remove his shirt then presses a kiss to Adam’s shoulder blade.

“Hallsy,” Adam tries and fails to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “Help me out here. I need…” _I need to drive everything but you and this moment out of my mind_ , he thinks.

“You need this,” Taylor kisses him gently on the lips. “You need this,” he repeats, as his fingertips glide along Adam’s ribcage. “You need this,” he whispers, moving so that Adam can feel Taylor’s erection against his own.

“Yes.”

Taylor kisses Adam again with light, delicate teasing little nips that aren’t enough to satisfy. It’s a game of advance and retreat for a few maddening moments until Adam’s legs bump up against the mattress. Adam sits down on the bed, taking advantage of the opportunity to yank off his pants and boxers. Taylor grins at him and, after a moment, starts undressing.

When the last item of clothing hits the floor, Taylor launches himself at Adam, tumbling him flat against the mattress. What follows next is a combination of a wrestling match and a tickle fight, neither of which Adam wins but he’s enjoying himself too much to mind. As Adam’s laughter dies down, he reaches for Taylor and slowly begins to stroke his erection, eyes darkening as he hears the slight hitch in Taylor’s breathing.

Adam stills his hand as Taylor reaches over to retrieve a condom and a bottle of lube from the bedside table. Adam takes the condom packet from him, opens it, and rolls the condom over Taylor’s erection. 

Taylor pours some of the lube over his fingers and begins to prepare himself and Adam. He teases Adam a bit with his fingers before _finally_ pressing one inside. Adam moans at the contact. “More, Taylor,” he pleads. Taylor obliges, inserting a second and crooking his fingers at just the right angle to brush against that spot that causes Adam to see sparks behind his eyelids. He inhales sharply and arches against Taylor’s hand. 

“We’re almost there, babe.” 

Adam nearly shatters at the endearment. Taylor works three fingers in him, going shallow, withdrawing, and coming back harder and deeper with each successive stroke. Adam wills himself to hang on. _Just a little longer. A little bit more. Can’t lose it yet. Can’t lose, can’t lose, can’t lose_ , screams the mantra in his head. 

“Ready?”

“Fuck, yes.” Taylor enters him in one smooth motion, filling him completely. Adam grins up at him from his position on the mattress, and then bucks his hips slightly, urging Taylor to move. Taylor picks up the pace, driving into him, giving Adam everything he wants, everything he needs. There’s nothing here but the two of them in this moment. 

Adam is conscious of Taylor’s hand closing around his cock, stroking his erection in time with his thrusts. He’s aware of Taylor whispering a steady stream of words, mostly indistinct, the ones he catches are half nonsense, half encouragement, and are soon followed by the crystal clear sound of Taylor moaning out Adam’s name. For a moment everything goes blindingly white, like a pristine sheet of ice, and then Adam feels himself spilling over Taylor’s hand. 

They lay side by side, hands lazily roaming over one another’s bodies. Their lips meet. Adam sighs, “When do you fly back?”

“Wednesday morning. I’ll be home in time to watch you score the game-winning goal,” he raises Adam’s hand to his lips and kisses it.

“So, I’ll be able to see you tomorrow. After morning skate.”

“We could go sightseeing. Maybe to the Walk of Fame or… can we go to the tar pits?”

“Umm…” 

Taylor hits him with a pillow. “C’mon. There’s mastodons and shit.”

“It’s just…” Adam scoots off the bed and begins collecting his clothes.

“I know you’re not worried that we’ll get recognized.”

“Well…”

“Ninety-nine percent of the people in this town wouldn’t recognize Anze Kopitar without a Kings jersey.”

Adam laughs, ducking into the bathroom. “We’ll see.” He cleans himself off quickly, runs his fingers through his hair in attempt to make it look more normal, and starts dressing. He stares at his reflection for a few seconds trying to figure out if anything is out of place. One thing he knows will be suspect is the big stupid grin that’s plastered on his face. Coach will probably want to run a drug screening on him if he keeps this up.

“What time is it?” he calls out to Taylor.

“Twelve twenty-six. No, twenty-seven.”

“Shit. Gotta run.” He hustles out of the bathroom, pausing by the bed long enough to press a goodnight kiss to Taylor’s lips.

“Adam.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s not over.”

“I know.”

Adam scurries out the door and down the hall to the elevators. He manages to catch an empty one to take up to the fourteenth floor. He tries to make himself stop smiling by thinking of the game they just lost – the goal light behind Marty flashing red, Quick making a ridiculous save, the Kings celebrating – but he can’t hold onto these images. His mind keeps switching to scenes of him and Taylor, passes connecting perfectly between them, the feeling of Taylor’s arms solidly around him, a feeling that he associates with home, with hope, with _winning_ more than any other. 

It’s that feeling that he calls to mind when he steps out onto the ice Wednesday evening. 

They’re going to win this game.  



End file.
